


Curious Propositions

by trashbinofdestiny



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Collars, Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, boot licking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-23 13:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13191054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashbinofdestiny/pseuds/trashbinofdestiny
Summary: When Ardyn gives Ignis the choice to come with him to Gralea, Ignis obeys readily. Perhaps... too readily. Ardyn finds that this is his chance to have a little fun before the end of all things, and Ignis discovers that the arrangement has benefits of its own.





	1. Chapter 1

“Good boy.”

Ardyn means nothing by it beyond the pleasure of watching a young man bristle at the implication—so wounding, to a man barely out of his youth—that he is not grown enough to take on the world and then some. The retainers of the king of light _do_ have their pride, and Ardyn knows he must take what pleasure he can find so close to the end of all things. 

But Ignis Scientia, advisor and right hand to the king, only blinks and looks askance. 

He’s been strangely quiet since their arrival in Gralea. Oh, he’s angry enough, of that Ardyn is certain. He’s far too hot-headed for an advisor, throwing himself into the path of Ravus’ blade, trying to attack Ardyn on sight, nearly dislocating his shoulder in an attempt to get to Noct while held down by the boot of an MT. But all it takes to disrupt him from the fury singing in the tense line of his shoulders is for Ardyn to click his tongue and tap a finger on his thigh. 

“Don’t dawdle,” he says. 

For an instant, Ignis follows without question. There’s a moment of hesitation in his step, but it comes _after,_ on the heels of Ignis’ instant obedience, as though the poor man has to remind himself that he’s in the hands of an enemy. Ardyn looks him up and down, and the plans he’s made begin to fall away, reforming themselves in a desperate scramble. He’d intended to leave Ignis there, to lure him to the Crystal, but now…

“Do stay close,” he says. “You don’t want to fall behind.”

Ignis opens his mouth to speak, and Ardyn raises one eyebrow in mock disapproval. Oddly enough, Ignis falls silent. His mind is working a mile a minute, no doubt, but he takes position at Ardyn’s heels and looks down, gaze fixed on the back of Ardyn’s feet. Almost as though—Oh. Oh, _dear._

Ardyn turns on his heel, and Ignis backs up a step. “I suppose,” Ardyn says, “we have an hour or so before your dear friends arrive. If you would follow me, my private rooms are just below.”

Ignis’ eyes narrow. “If I may,” he says. “Why—“ Ardyn stops him with an upraised hand and a sliver of a smile. 

“You’ll find that the carpet is easier on the knees.”

*

When Ignis does kneel, it’s with a sigh that seems to shake him to his core, and for just a moment, the exhaustion of what is likely a truly _terrible_ day shows in the curve of his spine, the tilt of his chin. Still, it won’t do for what the poor boy needs, and it has been some time since Ardyn has met someone desperate enough to kneel for the enemy. 

Ardyn taps Ignis’ lower back with his boot, and Ignis straightens. He’s tried this before, perhaps, but whoever taught him how to kneel had no sense, letting him learn bad habits. Ardyn adjusts Ignis little by little until he is sitting properly, though there’s nothing he can do about the way Ignis’ head bows when Ardyn approaches from the front.

“Poor boy,” Ardyn says. “Have you experience in this… particular exercise?”

Ignis licks his lips. “To a degree,” he says, and that’s all Ardyn needs to know. 

“We’ll learn as we go, then,” Ardyn says, and, since Ignis has only just learned how to kneel correctly, places the toe of his boot on Ignis’ chest and slowly tips him back. Ignis catches himself just in time—Ardyn is careful not too push too hard, in any case, and looks up through half-lidded eyes when Ardyn places his foot lightly on Ignis’ sternum. 

“I don’t care for complicated signals,” Ardyn says, “and frankly, the thought of you coming undone willingly is far more interesting than the alternative. If you don’t want this, _do_ speak up. Otherwise, you speak with permission or not at all. Understood?”

Ignis’ lips part, then he pinches them shut again and nods. 

“Very good,” Ardyn says, and again, he sees that flicker in Ignis’ eyes, the barest brush of a blink. “I expect you’re adept at many things, dear boy.” He lifts his foot, and gestures for Ignis to sit up. When Ignis’ arms tremble beneath him, Ardyn takes a fistful of his shirt and heaves him to a sitting position himself. 

“There we are,” he says. “Now. I fear my boots just aren’t the quality expected of one who intends to make an audience with a king. Help prepare me.”

To his delight, Ignis bends over immediately. His lips ghost over the toe of Ardyn’s shoe for half a breath, and then Ardyn feels the pressure of his tongue over the leather, the soft drag of his lips. Ignis is breathing hard, and Ardyn suspects that this time, exhaustion is not the true cause. He watches the young man lick and kiss his way up his boot, mixing desperation with precision, his movements just on the edge of sloppy. When he’s done, his gaze flicks to Ardyn, and Ardyn presents him with his left boot. 

Ardyn swears he can hear the faintest groan escape Ignis’ lips. Goodness, what _has_ he stumbled across?

Ardyn is liberal with his praise. Ignis is magnificent. So poised. So obedient. So delightfully frantic when he breaks. His tongue is so talented, his lips so plush, he’s being good, uncommonly good—

Ignis has to stop for a few seconds, panting and closing his eyes as he bends over Ardyn’s feet. Still, Ardyn can see the signs of arousal from where he stands, and he smiles indulgently, lifting Ignis’ chin with his boot. 

“I imagine your mouth can be put to better use,” he says. Ignis’ gaze shifts to Ardyn’s slacks, and Ardyn laughs, snapping his fingers for attention. Ignis straightens like a shot. “Mm. No. As they say, all good things come to those who wait, and I would like to reserve _that_ particular skill for another time.”

Ignis’ lips part once more, his brows furrowing, and Ardyn can tell that he wants to speak, wants to question. He’s an insatiable man, this Ignis, and Ardyn’s smile twists when he places two gloved fingers in Ignis’ mouth and Ignis sucks reflexively, cheeks hollowing around him. 

“Your technique can use work,” Ardyn says, shallowly pumping his fingers into Ignis’ mouth, pressing down on his tongue. Ignis’ eyes are hazy with pleasure, unable to focus on anywhere for long, sliding from Ardyn’s shoulder to the shifting ruffles of his sleeve. Ardyn slips a third finger in, and Ignis’ jaw clicks as he adjusts. He’s gone, now, lost in pleasure, and when Ardyn thrusts his fingers far enough for Ignis to gag, Ignis just works his throat and tries to take them anyways. Ardyn pulls out, and Ignis’ mouth hangs open slightly, lips wet and full, chest heaving. 

“Oh, yes,” Ardyn says, and cups the side of Ignis’ head in one large hand. “We must do this again.”

Some of the sharpness returns to Ignis’ eyes, and the corners of his mouth harden. “I don’t—“

“Did I give you permission to speak?” Ardyn asks. Ignis’ cheeks color wonderfully. “That’s quite alright. You’re new, bless you. But we don’t have time to continue. Your friends should be on their way now, and all good things must come to an end.” He steps back, and Ignis watches him, still kneeling, still half dazed with desire. “Though perhaps they don’t have to.”

He bends down and nudges Ignis under the chin with his knuckles. “When your king enters the Crystal, there will be plenty of time. Should you need me—and oh, my boy, I believe you _do—_ simply call upon me in Insomnia. You’ll find that I’m quite an accommodating man, when one shows the proper level of obedience owed. And you, Ignis…” He winks. “You have obedience down to an art.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Ignis arrives at the gates of Insomnia, a duffel bag over one shoulder and knives strapped to his back, the streetlight over Caelum Way and 26th Street turns on. It flashes green, flickering like a porch light in summer, and beyond it, the light at the next intersection snaps on. Then the next, and the next, in a straight line all the way to the Citadel.

Ignis' fingers tighten on the strap of his bag. 

The walk is quiet. Daemons prowl the side streets and subways, butIgnis is untouched as he treads the main road, leaving his mind with plenty of time to twist itself into a knot.

He knows he shouldn't do this. He knows that it would be better to go home, to crawl into Gladio's bed and pretend that what he wants is something fast and rough, a fist in his hair or an awkward attempt at dirty talk. And goodness knows there are clubs in Lestallum that might cater to more particular tastes.

The service door to the residential wing of the Citadel is already open. Ignis enters.

His rooms are still there, untouched by the fighting of the year before. Ignis looks through his old clothes, folded so neatly in hopes of a swift return, and he picks out something in black, with faint gold coeurl markings on the front. It's too tight now--the past year has put a swell on Ignis' muscles that no amount of private training could accomplish--and he has to leave the top three buttons undone, but it's a relief to wear something new. He sighs and turns to the door.

"My," Ardyn says, from where he stands at the doorway. "You've come after all."

Ignis freezes. The long, slow walk to the Citadel has filled him with second and third thoughts, with guilt at the yearning that tugs in his belly, the heat that rises in his skin when he thinks of Ardyn's fingers on his tongue. Now, with Ardyn standing before him, Ignis is left desperate and dry-mouthed with want.

Ardyn lets him stand there a moment, and then he crosses what feels like a suddenly vast distance in two strides, taking Ignis' face in hand. A thumb brushes over his lower lip, and Ignis lets his mouth fall open slightly. Ardyn smiles.

"On your knees, pet," he says, and Ignis gratefully complies.

There's a woeful amount of waiting, this time. Ignis' experience thus far largely involved late night begging and a half-hearted, uncertain stuttering of hips as Noctis, bless him, broke under the pressure and shame of giving Ignis orders, and Gladio thought submission only took place during sex. Now, Ignis is ordered to remain still, to wait as Ardyn slowly removes his jacket, adjusts his hair in Ignis' mirror, and lays out rules that send a shudder down Ignis' skin.

He waits for Ignis to speak up after each one, to give assent or negotiate, but every word feels like a blessing after a lifetime of chasing a thrill that wouldn't come. He is to ask permission to speak. Yes. He does not come without Ardyn's approval, even between visits. Yes. Sir will do if Ardyn must be addressed. Yes, of course, sir, yes. Ignis looks so lovely on his knees, perhaps he should stay there.

"Yes, please," Ignis says, and Ardyn waves him over, sitting on Ignis' unused bed. Ignis crawls to him, a lump forming in his throat, heat building in his cheeks as his knees slide across the carpet.

"Good boy," Ardyn says, and Ignis nearly sobs with relief. 

He needn't have worried about his clothes. Ardyn has him hold his hands up for inspection, and he removes Ignis' gloves so swiftly that Ignis nearly overbalances. The shirt is next, dropped unceremoniously on the ground at Ignis' side, and Ardyn pauses to admire the picture Ignis makes, half clothed and yet stripped bare, unable to keep the slow, sly smile from his lips. 

"If you behave well," Ardyn says, "I'll have something nice for you before you leave." 

Ignis tries to figure what Ardyn could possibly consider to be nice, beyond leaping up to reveal Noctis free of the Crystal, ready and able to bring back the dawn, but his gaze keeps returning to the line of Ardyn's belt, heavy and secure under too many layers of clothes. He shifts forward, raises his hands to brace himself on Ardyn's knees, and looks up into amused amber eyes. Ardyn clicks his tongue.

"Hands to yourself, pet," he says. Ignis wants to whine, but he forces it down.

"Yes, sir."

Ardyn spreads his legs just enough to be inviting, but Ignis holds himself back, waiting for a signal. Ardyn's look of approval sends a shiver through Ignis, and when Ardyn says, "Attend to me, my dear," Ignis almost falls forward. 

It isn't the most sophisticated attempt he's ever made. Ignis makes the mistake of trying to unbuckle Ardyn's belt himself, and has to lie there, mouth pressed to the bulge in Ardyn's trousers, hands crossed behind his back, while Ardyn waits for his patience to stretch to the breaking point. Ignis mouths a damp spot into the cloth, nuzzles his cheek down the line of Ardyn's cock, and stares up at him so plaintively that Ardyn laughs.

There really are too many layers to Ardyn's clothing, and Ignis leans on one firm thigh while Ardyn finally pulls himself free, hard and flushed. He taps Ignis' shoulder with two fingers, and Ignis straightens, pressing his lips to the head of Ardyn's cock. Ardyn shifts forward, just enough to part Ignis' lips, and Ignis moans around him.

Ardyn offers advice as Ignis goes. He urges Ignis to go further, to take him deeper, and purrs encouragement as Ignis tries his damndest to bob down the full length of Ardyn's cock. His jaw aches and he has to keep reminding himself to cover his teeth, but when a hand digs in Ignis' hair he groans so low that he can feel Ardyn twitch on his tongue. 

Ardyn doesn't come, though. He pulls away just as Ignis can feel the heat building, his balls drawing up tight as Ignis sinks down. Ignis sits back, bewildered, until he feels the pressure of Ardyn's shoe on his own aching erection. 

Ardyn has to hold Ignis up twice. Both times, Ignis tries to apologize, but his words come out thin and strained. Ardyn holds him still with one hand while he strokes himself with another, and Ignis has to employ every ounce of will remaining to him not to rut shamelessly on Ardyn's shoe. When Ardyn's breath comes short and he raises a brow in a silent question, Ignis chokes out a hoarse cry.

"Please," he says. And, because he knows, even now, far too much for his own good, "your majesty."

Ardyn starts in surprise, but his eyes darken a moment later. Ignis bites his lip as the pressure lifts from his cock. "Say that again, pet."

"Your majesty, please," Ignis says, and Ardyn's smile is all the warning he needs before Ardyn spends himself down the line of Ignis' neck, hot and filthy and perfect. They stare at one another, after, and Ardyn cards a hand through Ignis' disheveled hair. 

"Yes," he says. "I would so like to keep you."

When it's done, when Ignis slings a bag over his shoulder and faces the main street of Insomnia once more, a glint of gold flashes at his neck. There, hidden behind his high collar, is a fine strip of leather embroidered with gold thread, fit snugly around his neck so that every time he breathes, he can feel it move with him, a constant, welcoming reminder of where he belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the kinkmeme, but I may make a second, considerably kinkier part...


End file.
